


Catch You When You Fall

by scarletcougar



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Blood, Drama, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2017-11-26 07:48:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletcougar/pseuds/scarletcougar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fall... everyone falls at some point. In battle, from their own self-destruction, from mistakes, simply tripping, sometimes because things in life are just... complicated. Healers are always picking up the fallen. But who heals the healer? Who watches for when he falls? And when it is a certain possessed apostate, the fall could be catastrophic. Anders is his own worst enemy and Fenris knows it. Fenris swore to watch the mage for that moment when he falls. It turns out to be very much not the way he first intended. </p><p>Mainly Fenris and Anders (Fenders), but I have included Sebastian because he may be a key feature later on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monster or Healer?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just after Hadriana is killed. Anders tried to counter the horrible things he thinks she has twisted into Fenris' mind. Magic doesn't spoil everything. Fenris starts to question his beliefs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was in my head. I didn't know what else to do while it plagued my dreams, so here it is.

Fenris lay broken and bleeding.

He had had the strength enough to rip out Hadriana’s heart, but that strength soon failed him. He had staggered holding on a little longer to snarl back and forth with Hawke about the slave left behind in the mess. But as they left the caves and Hawke and Varric scouted ahead for a safe camp, his body gave up on him. Once again, the mage was there… to catch him when he fell.

Anders was always there to catch him. Every fall, every heartbreaking betrayal of people Fenris thought safe and normal, the mage was there. Anders fought slavers with as much hate and fury as he did corrupt Templars. He caught Fenris in every battle before the elf hit the ground. Somewhere in his mind, Fenris felt guilt nag him for all his harsh words about how terrible mages were and how magic spoils everything.

Once again, Anders caught him, “One day… you’ll have to do the catching when I fall.” It was another jest. Always a jest. Was Anders only ever serious when it came to mage rights?

Fenris winced in pain from both the lingering burn of the lyrium brands and the wounds. He would have fought the mage even now with the raw anger and emotional anguish so new in his mind, the memories refreshed by their encounter with Hadriana, but he lacked the strength. He just wanted the painful burning to stop.

Why did the mage turn such compassionate eyes upon him? How could Anders possibly understand what it is like to be tormented and tortured as only slaves in Tevinter are? Fenris had to look away from Anders. He hated that look. No one comforted him. He was not weak. NOT! Except maybe this moment where he silently prayed to the Maker for the pain to just… go away.

Anders cradled the grumpy elf against his shoulder, eyes searching over him, assessing the damage and deciding how to begin. “Magic does not spoil everything,” he whispered gently. “Even if it made you through terribly means, you are beautiful and the most amazing warrior I have ever seen. Hadriana and all the others will never know the depths of your honor and loyalty and commitments… even to a mage like me that you dislike so much.” His hand glowed a soft blue-green. “Magic can do some good. Please. Let me heal you?”

Fenris turned back, agony on so many levels reflected in his eyes. What was the point of fighting? He shut his eyes tight and ground his teeth together. Fenris nodded and mentally braced for the sting and stab and burning fire of the touch of magic upon him.

“I promise… this time, it will not hurt. I… I will not hurt you.” The magic first coated over Fenris’ clothes and slowly seeped to bathe his skin. Then it sank into the lyrium lines first and filled the brands with a cooling sensation. Something started to snap. Anders frowned as he focused. A trace of another spell tingled along the brands and Fenris almost struggled. Then the pain vanished. "There. That will help."

The pain vanished. There was no burn. No stabbing. Fenris snapped his eyes open to stare at the mage. Anders remained calm, eyes closed with a small crease between his brows as he concentrated. Fenris relaxed in near quiet amazement as the healing started and flesh knit.

_Fenris, if you can’t stand to think of me as a mage, then think of me as a healer. I am a healer first, above all else. Before I am a mage, before I am a Grey Warden. I am a healer. No matter what hate happens between me and another, even you. I will heal you with all that I am. I will never do harm to those who do not truly deserve it. Never._

The one time Anders was filled with Justice and could not tell innocent from guilty till Hawke calmed him, Fenris had been reminded of times when he was caught in the bloodlust, the battle rage. Was Anders any different possessed, than Fenris was enraged? Take away the possessing spirit, what was Anders? A scared mage, running away all the time and healing. Always getting caught because he stopped to heal the helpless. As much as Fenris spat that Anders needed to learn control and be strong, it was an old argument. What mage did not struggle as Anders had and still maintain any sense of self for more than three years. There was strength and control in that.

Fenris closed his eyes and gave in to Anders' healing. Gave in to the feeling of being held and comforted. And this time, whatever the mage had done, there was no pain at the touch, no ripping agony of memories. He turned his head, leaning it against the mage’s shoulder.

When he opened his eyes again, he was wrapped in his warm blanket and lay upon a bedroll. A fire burned nearby as Hawke and Varric exchanged jovial stories. Did Anders carry him? Was the mage actually that physically strong? He propped himself up and looked around. The night sky showed a no moon, but many stars. The firelight warmed and lit the campsite. Anders…

Anders lay exhausted from healing Fenris. He twitched and frowned and whimpered and curled in on himself, then jerked awake with a hint of Justice. Fenris felt the surge and could now tell the feel of Justice versus the feel of Anders. So the spirit chased away the mage’s night terrors. He had always suspected. Now he was sure.

Now… his brands felt even the subtlest nuances. Whatever Anders did, it stopped the eternal pain, the eternal burn. Now he could feel the very mage. He knew all mages gave off a slight magical aura. He had been told this, now he could feel it, differentiate it clearly. Not just Anders from Justice. Not just Anders from the others in their group. But also the delicate hums of all the enchanted items. Each a bit different, not annoying and yet easy to shut out. How could he thank the mage for this?

Justice faded swiftly from Anders who rubbed the heel of his hand against his temple, then scrubbed his eyes. Those amber eyes met Fenris’ for a moment then closed as he lay back down. Fenris frowned. He saw… sadness? Loneliness? As deep as his own. He shook his head. He could not let these things twist his perceptions of mages, of this mage.

When all is thought lost, Fenris wondered where the mage would stand. Would he give in to the spirit and succumb to being an abomination, a monster... no longer a gentle healer?


	2. Cannot Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris does not fear pain or even death. But drowning on his own blood? That is pretty scary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally titled 'When All Was Thought Lost', but I think now 'Catch You When You Fall' is a better title for the story and will be the theme of each chapter.

Anders slid around the rocks they all sheltered behind as the slavers rained arrows and their blood mage threw malicious spells at them. The elf children they had just liberated hid with the heroes behind the rock and could be heard crying, their former slavers determined to get them back. Anders could not stand it. He gathered a few small cantrip spells to taunt the slavers and coax them across the small bridge. He shielded himself well against the onslaught. Their foes new the only way to get to Anders would be to cross the bridge and strike him down from close range, where all mages were vulnerable as few knew how to fight physically and fewer had enough strength to even consider the possibility.

They were sorely mistaken when they encountered Anders. His staff swept out and a smooth and hard arc knocking two men from the bridge and twirls to impact and crush the ribs of another on the return swing. He gathered a great force of magic into his staff and waited for the swordsmen to get mostly onto the bridge and so close it was dangerous. Then he slammed the butt of his staff into the ground and yelled, throwing his spirit force like a wave along the bridge, “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!” The spirit force flung men left and right into the abyss below. The rain of arrows and spells stopped in shock. He used the pause to draw a trap glyph on the ground, and then Anders strode back to the rock and stopped half way to turn and point his staff. He flung one more spell at them. Now he was tapped out and would need a breather and/or some lyrium potions.

Anders dropped down with Varric grinning. “I really wanted to say that, like forever! Didn’t that sound amazing and scary? I almost went with *You shall not have them* but I will save that for maybe that Danarius guy trying to get Fenris.” Varric chuckled and shook his head. Some of the children relaxed at Anders silliness like this kind of fight was simple and every day and that they had nothing to worry about now that the Champion was here with his tried and true companions. “Speaking of Fenris… where did he…”

The battle roar that was one of Fenris’ trademarks along with his glowing body told Anders the elf was charging BACK across the narrow bridge right into the slavers they were trying to ESCAPE. Hawke’s taunting words proved the Champion had followed. “What the Void?!” snapped Anders. “We are supposed to be running away not running back into.” Fenris lept over the glyph as did Hawke to rush into the fray. Anders groaned and thudded his head back against the stone. “Why did I bother…” 

He and Varric stepped out to either side of their shelter. Bianca letting fly bolt after bolt with deadly aim and Anders swigged a bottle of lyrium potion and continued casting.

Afterwards, Fenris staggered broken and bleeding. It was almost a usual occurrence. What did one expect when they ran into the thick middle of a fight barefoot and glowing with such blind hate? It had occurred to him that perhaps he should not chastise the mage for Anders’ lack of any sense of self-preservation after this one. He had come to trust Hawke would be as deeply in the middle of the mess as he, and would likely lay just as broken and bleeding this time. He had also come to trust Varric’s crossbow. Bianca and he were a sure shot. And, grudgingly, he had come to trust Anders magic, at least in battle. He could now pick up the hum in his brands that was uniquely Anders, boosting him, protecting him, healing him. Whatever the mage did a few months ago allowed this to no longer hurt every time Anders cast something on him.

Every slaver was dead. The children were now safe. Fenris shoved Anders off and walked on his own. Healing could happen later. Fenris still felt too twitchy and angry to be touched and there might still be slavers about on their way out of the caves and along the Wounded Coast. Anders kept looking back at him and walked apace with him. “Go away, apostate.”

Anders ignored the bristling as his eyes critically assessed Fenris. Hawke had faired rather well and invited the healing Anders gave. It irritated Anders to no end how stubborn this elf was. So he waited. The elf would fall over soon enough and give him no choice. The only up to the elf’s stupidity was that the time allowed for Anders to start to regain some of his mana, since they were out of lyrium potions.

When Fenris’ feet began to drag and he lagged behind, Anders stepped in front of him. “You are a fool. A sexy glowing deadly fool, but still a fool.”

Fenris looked up not quite grasping the mage’s new bout of gibberish, except that he was being called a fool. He snarled and dug his left set of claws into the feathery pauldron of Anders armored coat. The snarl caused such a stabbing pain that he grimaced and the snarl turned into something undignified, like a pained gurgle. His other hand shot to his left side of his chestplate. It felt wet, hot, sticky. His breath came up short and his knees buckled.

Once again, Anders caught him, “One day… you’ll have to do the catching when I fall.” There it was, another jest. Always a jest. Fenris concluded the charm and jokes were like a shield so you would never really see beyond to the person below. They might find a true abomination otherwise, or maybe a man with the very compassion of Andraste. Fenris could never forget those words Anders had spoken, _I am a healer, above all else, before all things. I am a healer first and I would never harm an innocent soul. A healer can’t. I wish you could understand that._

“Hawke!” Anders called. “Make camp now!” There was no distress in his tone. It was a command with the expectation that all would comply without question. Anders supported Fenris with one arm for a moment as the elf grappled his right hand and sunk in his claws into the back of Anders' coat. Anders was grateful for a second time that the coat was armored or he would be healing both his own shoulder and his back. He held the elf against his chest moving a careful step at a time till he could sit on the ground with his back against a huge fallen tree. He let his staff be abandoned beside him. Lightening would not be helpful at this moment. Anders was certain Fenris would spit hateful things when he realized he was in the mage’s lap. At the moment though, it didn’t matter.

It really didn’t matter. Fenris felt panic rise with the pain. Pain alone he could endure. It wasn’t as bad as when he was branded. But the panic of realization drew strangled words from his lips as he pressed his face into Anders shoulder and hating that he was afraid. “Mage… I… I can’t… breathe.”

Anders’ skilled fingers swiftly undid straps and buckles. “Hawke? Varric? I need one of you to help me here. I need his armor off. Something is interfering with my healing.” Hawke knelt and helped with what Anders could not manage one-handed, since the other arm supported Fenris. Fenris coughed a mouthful of blood onto Anders scarf-covered chest. Hawke pried off one hand to remove a gauntlet then allowed it back to gripping Anders in desperation. He repeated for the other gauntlet and place those two with the chest and back plate he had already set aside. Soon Fenris’ vest-like tunic was eased off of him. When Hawke asked if they should lay Fenris down, Anders declined. “His lungs will fill with blood faster than I can drain them or heal him if we do. And I don’t have much mana left. Any chance of a stray forgotten lyrium potion?” Hawke shook his head. “Fine, I need a bowl of boiled water, a bowl of clean cold water. Salt water is fine for both. And a small very sharp knife sitting in alcohol and an extra pair of very nimble hands. Lyrium potion would be really nice though…”

Varric regarded the nervous children and the wounded Fenris. “I’ll take the kids home and come back with a few bottles of good ole blue for Blondie. Fire’s going and water’s on to boil.” Anders gave Varric a grateful smile. The dwarf rounded up the kids and continued along the road back to Kirkwall with them.

Hawke shook out the bed mats and laid Anders’ and Fenris’ side by side and over the fallen tree like a sofa. Then he returned with the bowls of boiled and cold sea water and his boot knife sitting in a jar with alcohol he was sadly going to miss. He doubted it would be drinkable after this.

Fenris could feel the familiar and soothing hum of Anders’ magic flowing along his brands and into the places that hurt and inspired fear within him. The gentle waves soothed both. His breathing was still tight and rattled, catching now and then and he tried to breathe shallowly to ease the stabbing. He had felt with his fingers before he fell, but there was no knife in him despite how it felt inside.

“I got you, Fenris.” Anders reassured. “I am going to do something that will hurt. Want me to spell you to sleep so you don’t feel it?” He always asked Fenris before doing things. He was rarely this frank with his other patients, but he was pretty sure Fenris preferred this and maybe even appreciated it, not that he ever showed it beyond a ‘thank you’ ground out between clenched teeth and a cold stare. At Fenris’ head shake, Anders continued to explain each step before he did it. “I need to touch inside to see what is blocking my healing. It might be a sword tip or an arrowhead. I’ll pull it out if I can. Try to relax. Tense any other muscles but your chest muscles. Can you do that?”

Fenris could do that. He nodded and his grip on the front shoulder and the Anders’ back tightened. He buried his face hard into the crook of Anders neck and inhaled the smells of elfroot and wintergreen, bergamot and vanilla. When he relaxed his chest muscles, his eyes popped open as Anders dug a finger or two into the open wound. Fenris forgot to breathe and vowed he would kill the mage.

“Arrowhead.” Anders was pretty sure that is what it was. The slavers had a good number of archers. The arrow must have broken off in the fight. “Ok Hawke, now for nimble fingers and a sharp knife. Fenris. Hawke is going to cut this wound open a little more and pull out the arrowhead. I will heal to keep you from bleeding out or drowning on your blood. Stay with me. I will see you through this.” He spoke softly into Fenris’ ear. His cheek rubbed the top of Fenris’ head to comfort him.

Hawke gave Anders a wide-eyed look as if to say, _‘you want me to do WHAT?!’_

“Now Hawke. I don’t have enough mana to keep this up. I’ll be tapped out soon.” Anders instructed step by small step, indicating with a finger. Hawke at least was very good with a knife, but really preferred killing bad people than digging around inside his friends with one.

The knife stung icily with its alcohol coating. Fenris felt it touch bone and his brands flared with his panic. There was a small tug and Fenris felt like some of his innards would be torn out. He could not silence the cry that escaped. The arrowhead was tossed onto the rocks with a vile colorful curse from Hawke. Air whistled in and out of the hole with a sucking sound and dribbles of blood. Anders’ magic poured from him to seal it, knit the flesh. At least enough so Fenris would live. He felt Anders’ magic fizzle out. That too was sometimes familiar before the mage managed to dink down a lyrium potion. But there were no lyrium potions left and Varric was not back yet. Another small wave of magic returned to knit some more flesh and convince the body to reabsorb the blood in his lungs. Fenris wondered where that wave came from if the mage was tapped out.

“I can’t do more or I will pass out. I want to be able to be up and monitoring him.” Anders sounded drained. Hawke followed Anders' next instructions to wash first with the hot water, disinfect with alcohol, and then rinse with the cold.

Fenris felt exhausted. He was still too afraid to move, as if the idea of being separated from Anders right now might mean his death.

Hawke helped Anders shuffled very carefully onto the bed mats for more comfort, keeping Fenris in the mage’s lap and the tiniest trickle of magical connection for monitoring. Hawke wrapped Fenris’ blanket around them both first. No one seemed to care about what blanket was used by whom, but Fenris. Fenris brought his own blanket when they took trips that might be longer than the day. It was thick and softer than kitten fluff and very warm. It was the first thing Fenris had bought for himself with his earnings. Two more blankets wrapped around them to stave off any physical shock from the impromptu surgery.

And good thing. Fenris clung hard to Anders and shivered. After a couple hours he drifted to sleep held snugly in a warm embrace. It was the safest he had ever felt. It did not trigger a slew of painful memories that would only be lost again. Anders did not touch any more than absolutely necessary to keep him steady, warm and healed. Yet he had no strength of his own. It seemed to have been sucked from him with the blood he had lost.

Fenris stirred slightly now and then when he heard Hawke confer with Anders about… something. Late, he felt a slight weight against his head and realized Anders had fallen asleep, cheek resting against Fenris’ brow. The tiny magical connection was still there. Fenris could feel it inside him. Part of him wanted to recoil that the mage was there… in him… still. And part of him wanted to hang onto that steady weak thread. It was all Anders could give him for healing right now. A constant thread of his own life force. He could also slightly sense Justice in the background, lending Anders strength to keep Fenris alive and out of danger. The reality of Anderss selflessness stood contrary to everything Fenris ever understood of mages, especially possessed ones. He folded his legs closer to the mage for warmth and under the blankets.

The movement woke the mage. Anders lifted his head and inhaled deeply. A little ripple of stronger magic rolled through Fenris’ brands, pushing away infection and any hints of a state of shock to the body. He shifted his leg so Fenris’ folded knees tucked under Anders’ knee. He leaned slowly and carefully to make sure the blankets covered all of the elf. “Are you breathing a bit easier?” he asked softly.

Fenris nodded, finding even that sapped what little energy he had. He could breathe much easier. He wanted to speak but did not trust his voice or his words. Nothing seemed quite adequate for the lifesaving work Anders was doing for him, an elf who has been nothing but cruel in his words. Maybe Fenris was wrong. The question came to his mind more and more often when things like this happened. How can you hate the man who time and time again pulls you from the brink of death to make sure that you live and stay free. How can you stay angry at the man who time and time again, takes on all the worries and concerns for your safety onto his own shoulders and gives of his own life for you, knowing your dislike of him anyways. How do you thank someone for that? _One day, I will catch you when you fall._

Gentle fingers touched his cheek an hour later, waking Fenris. “Will you sip some broth? You need sustenance to feed your strength so I can heal you more.” Anders voice always had this smooth tenor tone when he spoke or joked and comforted. It only hit sharp painful highs, almost too high for a man when he got upset and yelled and ranted on about his mage rights. Fenris lifted his head and sipped from the small bowl that Anders held to his lips. Only once Fenris had finished the bowl did Anders eat his own bowl of stew, now mostly cold.

The sun had started to set. Varric likely had just reached Kirkwall and handed the children off to Aveline to take to their respective homes. He might be on his way back even. Anders let Fenris know he needed to shift position a little. “I need to sleep. Don’t worry, you are still bound to me for healing. It’s a Warden spell that I can explain to you later if you want. You will continue to draw from me to keep stable, even if I sleep.” Fenris braced himself and winced and grunted as Anders shifted a little till he was more comfortable with Fenris nestled still against him, his arms still around the elf’s bare skin under the blankets. “Fenris, I want to apologise in advance.”

“For?” Fenris blurted his question because it seemed beyond ridiculous that the mage should apologize for anything, especially in advance, unless he was going to do something the elf would not like. Then he narrowed his eyes and started to tense warily.

“I want to apologize if I wake you or jostle you and it hurts. I… I have bad nightmares. I will try not to shake you much, but I apologize in advance, in case one is particularly bad while you are this close to me.”

Fenris nodded acceptance. He wondered sometimes what those dreams were that woke Anders. Were they the darkspawn dreams? He didn’t think so. He had asked Bethany about that once and learned that you get those only if darkspawn were close or if their power was getting stronger in the world. So these were something else that plagued Anders, and nightly. Fenris understood nightmares. He had some himself. Hadriana had given him plenty of experiences to fill many, and Danarius gave him the rest. “When... will I be... well enough... to move?”

“After I sleep, I will be able to do more healing and when Varric returns with some lyrium potions, then I can finish it. So, don’t go anywhere, ok?” Anders threw in with a lopsided grin.

Fenris snorted and then winced. A slightly stronger trickle of magic flowed to his wound to ease the pain. No, he was not going anywhere.

Hawke finished his stew that Varric had started over the fire. He then collected their bowls and watched them thoughtfully. He, by default, was on watch duty to protect the camp. He wondered when those two would come to realize how similar their experiences in life were. These two men from such different worlds. They were among Hawke’s closest and most trusted. He wanted them to be happy and free and safe.

Varric made it back to camp before midnight and saw the snuggled Anders and Fenris. He smirked at Hawke and motioned with a thumb at the sleeping pair. Hawke smirked back and pressed a finger to his lips. They arranged to leave them sleep as long as Anders could. Their hand gestures must have been amusing, but whatever worked. Hawke curled up to doze while Varric took over watch for a few hours. The lyrium bottles, three of them, were silently placed beside Anders to find whenever he woke.

It was a revelation to both Anders and Fenris that Anders had not had a night terror that night. He had, in fact, slept the whole night without incident. It was one of the best sleeps he had had in a very long time. And his pool of mana was full. He stretched and nudged Fenris to wake as he began to heal him in earnest once more. He still needed two of the three lyrium potions to complete the task, but Fenris was fully healed in time for breakfast.

And good thing too, Anders was NOT going to eat any breakfast that Hawke would cook. Licking the floors of Darktown would likely be both safer and tastier. Fenris helped break camp and pack up since he was essentially useless all day yesterday and last night. He wanted to make up for that as much as possible. Anders, had made breakfast for all their safety.

On their way back to Kirkwall, Fenris hung back from the group and walked with Anders this time. His mind full of questions and concerns, need for clarification and understanding. But he never asked a thing. Just walked, in silence, casting the mage the occasional glance.

“What?” Anders finally asked after the tenth glance over at him.

Fenris had shrugged, “You always catch me when I fall.”

“Well, if you do not like it, stop falling in a heap of blood and broken bones.” It wasn’t exactly a snipe, but being looked at repeatedly and followed so closely by the elf-who-rips-people’s-hearts-out had started to set Anders nerves off.

Not more than a few minutes later, they were right back at snapping and snarling at each other the entire way back along the Wounded Coast. Hawke and Varric both rolled their eyes. “Business as usual then,” Varric commented quietly.

“They should just fuck and get it over with,” Hawke counter-commented. Varric laughed hard and privately decided to see if Isabela would help him write something naughty about the mage and the elf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok... now what? I want something or a couple somethings before the Varania/Danarius mess. I am open to pointers to a scene you want to see... explored. Fighting darkspawn in the Vimmark Mountains or lesser dragons at the Bone Pit? Something snarly between the boys? Incidents at the Hanged Man? Spied on in the Clinic? Just looking for a spark for the next chapter.


	3. Take a Good Look!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is something much deeper to Anders actions when a child shows up. It leaves many with questions unanswered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has not been edited for my various dyslexic moments, yet. Please be understanding.

Anders sat crafting burn salves with the last of his herbal supplies well into the late afternoon. He was waiting for Hawke to call him to the Hanged man for their pay out for the last few jobs. He shook the very last dustings of a jar of herb hoping there was enough for the last balm. Maybe there would be a new job that would take them into a place where he can collect more. He didn’t want to have to buy any.

He rubbed his temple. Justice had been ranting at him to get back to their plans. “Damn it Justice. These things don’t happen overnight. Getting myself killed does not free people. It just gets me killed and leaves them trapped.” He sighed heavily. He was tired. The nightmares were especially bad last night. He was momentarily trapped between two groups of Templars. Neither had seen him. But he also could not move from his darkened nook near the stairs to Darktown. So of course, last night’s dreams were of Templars and being recaptured and tortured, waking almost screaming as Justice forced him back to consciousness.

A bang on the door startled him and he ended up spilling the last balm preparation. “Well… fuck.” He gave up and headed to the door as the pounded repeated. Pounding usually meant Templars. He almost backed away again to get his staff when he heard a small child wail. He flung open the door.

A man, one of the homeless of Darktown, shoved a small child at Anders. “Here… you deal with this.”

Confounded, Anders caught the tumbling child and realized the boy was badly beaten. Justice lurked on the edges waiting to be released. “Are you his father?!” Anders asked accusingly.

“Nope. Templars came down the stairs and shoved him at me an’ left. Not mine. Don’t want him.” And the man walked away. He through over his shoulder, “They said something about his mother turning out to be a mage so they took her. But they didn’t want him.”

“You didn’t have to be so rough with him!” Anders yelled back. He tried to calm himself before Justice had him rushing out to kill the man. _No, leave him. They have their own problems and a hurt child that is not theirs is one more they not handle. Besides, the boy needs comfort more than the man needs a beating._ Justice sank back into the back of Anders mind.

Anders sighed and knelt down to the child’s level. The boy could not have been more than four or five. His face was bruised and bruises were starting to show through his torn shirt. A scrape on his brow and bled messily down the boy’s face and dried. Semi-clean salty streaks ran down the boy’s dusty cheeks. Anders wanted to cry for both mother and child. How could they!? H could the Templars just toss a child back this young with no family when they took the mother? He didn’t need an answer. He knew it. They were Templars. It was what they did. But beat the boy? The boy must have screamed and cried and tried to cling to his mother as only four-year-old should. Anders remembered his own mother, who was struck bleeding and left on the dirt road when the Templars took him away and forbade her to follow. It was just what Templars did.

He scanned the child with magic to see if there was internal bleeding. Then he picked the child up in his arms. He could feel ribs, not plump flesh. That decided it. Anders was not going to wait for Hawke. The child clung around his neck and blubbered into his shoulder. He didn’t bother with his staff as he kicked his door shut and wiggled his magical fingers to convince the bolts to slide into place. Then he turned and took long purposeful all the way to the Hanged Man. He entered and ignored Nora’s slight protest at bringing a child into the bar. Then she gasped when she saw the dried blood. “I’ll get a basin of water. Varric is upstairs,” she told Anders. He nodded and headed straight up the stairs.

Fenris was there sitting and sipping wine, talking quietly with Sebastien. Hawke came trotting in. “Oh thank the Maker! I had just missed you and was worried that that Templar patrol had… Had… why are you holding a child, Anders?” Everyone looked his way after Hawke’s words.

Anders sat on a chair and cradled the boy, much as he had cradled Fenris that time last month. “Those Templars did not see fit to let him stay with his mother when they took her to the Gallows. They did this and then dumped him on the first guy they saw in Darktown.” The child started to cry again, whimpering for his mother. “I wanted to all to get a good fucking look. Next time you all want to say something to me about my mage rights… remember this child.” He turned the child’s face for everyone to see the blood, scrapes and bruises.

Hawke had to look away. It turned his stomach. Sebastian’s hand covered his mouth in shock as he stared with wide eyes. A prayer slid like a faint whisper between his lips. Varric frowned a moment before commenting, “We’ll look after him now and make this a little bit right if we can.  I’ll get some food. He looks like he needs it. Ah, there’s Nora with water. What do you need for him right now to heal him, Blondie.” The key words were ‘right now’ to ensure Anders did not go off on a tirade and insist they try to break the boy’s mother free.

Anders cuddled the boy comfortingly before answering more calmly than he had started this conversation. “Food for us both, please. And a lyrium potion if you can find one. I’m tapped out from healing all day and crafting salves and balms I was augmenting. And can we find a safe place for him to stay? I… am not safe company, all things considered.”

Fenris’ eyebrows shot up. It was the most aware of his abominable state Anders had admitted to, unless he referred to the apostate state whereby he was hunted by Templars.

“And don’t put him in the Blooming Rose. I know how children get treated in those kinds of places.” Anders was thinking of Zevran. Zevran had been the bastard orphan of a prostitute and grew up as a sex toy for the depraved, then sold off to the rows to become an assassin.

“I’ll take him,” Nora volunteered. “He’s my son’s age. And you will know where he is in case his mother and he can be reunited.” Anders gave her a grateful smile and proceeded to clean the boy up with her help.

“Nora Darling! You have a wonderful heart!” Varric complimented.

Sebastian volunteered to see if he could find anything out about the father and left for the Chantry to speak with the Grand Cleric. His head full of problematic moral questions about the actions of Templars. Hawke put the heavy bag of coin from their job income onto Varric’s table and took out a few coins. He headed out to find the boy a change of clothing. He knew Anders’ rants about Templars by heart and they rang hard in his heart at the moment. But what could he do, really? The problem was much much bigger than anything he could manage. Fixing things in Kirwall is small scale by comparison.

Fenris watched in passive silence. Observing. Anders poured his gentle compassion with everything he was into each patient, care and affection and reassurance, unguarded and pure. Fenris found himself wanting that directed at him more often, but not because he was hurt. He looked away. No, he should not want that. That was weak, wasn’t it? He especially didn’t want it from the possessed apostate, right? He was amazed how kind and sweet Anders was with the child. It reminded him of loving parents he never had, of loving parents he had seen in Kirkwall as he walked about the city. _Anders would make a good father,_ he thought, _if he were not possessed by a spirit demon thing and if he were not sometimes obsessed by his mage revolution._

That made him think more on things that were too sensitive, too close to home. Anders said, _I wanted to all to get a good fucking look. Next time you all want to say something to me about my mage rights… remember this child._ He was always going on about how the Templars were cruel. However, Fenris had no real proof, till now. Anders had danced around the subject of what exactly the Templars had done to him. Perhaps those things are what plagued Anders’ dreams. He watched the mage drink a lyrium potion Varric handed him as food got placed on the table. His brands tingled with the feeling of Anders casting magic in the room. The brands didn’t flare or glow or even hurt or burn, but they tingles in a way that spoke of Anders. A soft almost gentle humming in his skin. A blue-green light surrounded Anders hand as he talked to the child and healed each wound. The boy sniffled as he nibbled food after, missing his mother terribly. In a way, Fenris felt like that boy. Everything torn away and having to rely on the goodness of others for his future.

Hawke returned with some clothes for the boy and a small wooden toy. After Nora took the child away, Hawke asked Anders if he was ok. Fenris saw the jesting grin flicker on Anders lips, but it could not hold and Anders shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. Hawke new something about Anders that Fenris didn’t. Fenris wanted to know, felt like he needed to know.

“I am really tired, Hawke,” Anders sounded it. “Can we just do the divvying up so I can go to bed?”

“Alright, then you come to my place to sleep it off. My bed’s more comfortable. You’ll sleep better,” offered Hawke in his way that assumed you would just say yes. Anders just nodded.

Varric opened up a large ledger. The ledger was titles **Hawke’s Interests**. It had several tabs, one for each person of Hawke’s groups of misfit companions. The first was for Garret Hawke of course, a steel grey tab of fabric with the Amell hawk emblem embroidered in deep red. Hawke had two main financial investment interests: Real estate (unspecified) and Mining (The Bone Pit). The second tab was for Bethany Hawke and was actually a double tab. The upper half of the tab was a bright red with a silver embroidery of the Amell hawk emblem while the lower half was blue with the silver embroidery of the Grey Warden’s falcon and cup. Bethany’s main investments started out in the silk trade and then were readjusted to the Grey Wardens of Vigil’s Keep near Ameranthine. There was a tab for Leandra Amell-Hawke of lavender linen with her investment being towards the Amell estate and re-establishment of the family status. Her accounts were now marked as inherited by Garret Hawke since Leandra was now deceased. These made up the Hawke/Amell Family. Hawke’s uncle Gamlin was excluded. Hawke was still simmering mad at him. Varric did keep a page with a black tab for Gamlin and kept track of the man’s debts, which sometimes Hawke would wipe out… sometimes.

The rest of the Hawke’s Interests meant the companions. These started with Aveline. Her tab was a piece of rusty colored denim with the emblem of the City Guard of Kirkwall embroidered in grey thread. Her main investment was the City Guard. That was no surprise to anyone, really. Fenris was next with a rich teal silk tab with silver embroidery that matched his lyrium brands. Varric has assigned investments in fine wines for Fenris. Anders had a double tab like Bethany. The lower half was the same as Bethany’s for the Grey Wardens. But the upper half was a forest green with gold trim. His only investment was Lirene’s Fereldan Relief Fund. Merril’s tab came next and was green with white and red and black Dalish designs. Varric had also assigned investments to her for Elvish Lore and a savings for one day he felt she might well want to start her own tribe and be its Keeper. She would need funding for that. Isabela Rivaini, to Varric’s great amusement, had a sea blue tab with a golden skull and crossbones embroidered on it. Her investment was toward a new ship. Last was Sebastian Vael. It was a double tab. It started with the first half being white with the golden sun of the Chantry upon it. Vael was going to have the embroidery be of Andraste, except Anders had made some crude jokes about the Andraste face belt buckle and how it was on his crotch. He could no longer add it to anything without recalling the conversation with humiliation. The lower half of the tab was light blue with a white and gold emblem of the Vael Royal Family of Starkhaven upon it. His investments started out as donations to the Chantry, but then by Grand Cleric Elthina’s advice, changed to financing the rebuilding of Starkhaven. Varric didn’t bother to include himself of his former brother. There was a whole book for the Tethras family.

Hawke divided up the coin from the last couple jobs. One golden sovereign went to each person, regardless of their presence on the mission. Fenris once asked about that. Hawke stated simply that he takes care of his friends. It was important to him to make sure they all had something and were never in dire need to the best of his ability. It was this kind of commitment and honor that taught Fenris about friendship. Once every person has a coin and Varric logged it for those not present, tucking those coins into pouched that bore the same patterns as the tabs, then Hawke split the rest equally between those who had gone on the mission. He split his personal earnings in three, keeping a third and the other two thirds went to his two investments. Fenris split his in two and handed half to Varric, trusting Varric was doing something useful with it. Anders sat a long time with his. So long that Varric leaned over and split it up for Anders.

“Blondie, you need some coin in your pocket to eat with.”

Hawke gave Anders a sad look and waved to everyone. Then he guided Anders out of the Hanged Man to his own estate to sleep.

Fenris frowned at the collection of Anders coins, “What will you do with it?”

Varric didn’t usually divulge other people’s finances, but he sometimes made exceptions. “He always tells me to give it all to Lirene. I don’t. I give half to her for the Fereldan Relief Fund. The rest gets put towards supplies as Blondie needs them for the clinic to function. I even keep some aside for savings to buy him meals. I make him eat when he comes here or when we are out on mission because otherwise, I think he gives pretty much all of it away to the starved poor folk of Darktown. He’s not very good at taking care of himself.”

Fenris grunted something that could have been acknowledgement or agreement. Or could have been something he needed to think more about. Varric figured it was the latter as he watched Fenris leave with his deep thinking scowl bringing those dark eyebrows together under white bangs.

Varric smiled to himself. He had carefully calculated his words to make sure the elf had questions and concerns and thought about what Anders might actually be doing, who Anders actually was, what kind of man as opposed to just an objectified abomination. He laid a bet with himself that Fenris would soon be spying on Anders to get answer to the many questions that have been building over the last few months.

His only worry was Hawke.

Not that Hawke was worrying per se. Just that Hawke and Fenris had a very awkward and messy split with hurt feelings and confusion. Fenris left Hawke broken-hearted for no-one knew why. Hawke had been playing the field some after that and Varric worried that Hawke might play the field with Anders. He foresaw that going just as messily in reverse. Anders seemed like the kind of guy who needed a relationship that he was not likely going to get from Hawke at this point. Hawke was no longer in a place where he felt comfortable enough to have something that steady. And Varric had seen curious affection and attraction in Anders over the years as he had in Fenris’. He shook his head. This is why he stuck with Bianca.

So watching Hawke guide Anders to the Hawke manor… he knew this would eventually end poorly. But then again, maybe not. There was always room for hope. And if it didn’t? He wondered who would be there to catch people when then fall, because those would be very painful falls indeed. Maybe he should be worrying more about Justice.


	4. First Swimming Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke is so carefree. Running with kid-like abandon to skinny dip in a pond. Fenris is left out because he can't swim. Anders offers to teach him.

It was a typical excursion on the Wounded Coast with the wounded of their party after beating the stuffing out of raiders. Varric looted the corpses while Hawke sat quietly for Anders to heal each cut and gash upon him.

Hawke flexed and rotated his wrist to test the healing. “Thanks Anders. I was thinking of hunting for more of those herbs for that guy in the Gallows. I think they were up the Vimmark mountains or maybe they’re near the top of Sundermount.”

Anders rolled his eyes and sighed with exasperation while he finished the last bit of healing on Hawke. “The Vimmark mountains are a mountain RANGE, Hawke. That is a great deal of land to cover. And Sundermount is in the opposite direction. Can you not find out a little more before we go traipsing off? It’s a lot of hiking.”

“I thought you liked hiking,” he says a little hurt. “Fresh air, no walls, open sky, clean water…”

“I do!” he amends, because he does. He just doesn’t like that his camp mates get to see him have nightmares and struggle with Justice. He hates that the camping means no privacy. And he hates how much the hiking makes him ache in places he cannot heal. But he loves the distraction from Justice’s constant push for the mage rights and mage underground. “I just think you ought to know where we are going at least a little. What is the point looking for herbs in either of these places when they are actually, say… on the Wounded Coast?”

Fenris walks into camp. “There is no one close enough to bother us tonight. And you wanted to know if there was fresh water… there is a lake just over…” he pointed and didn’t get to finish.

“Last one in is a rotting nug-humper!” Hawke and Varric run off to the pond.

Anders and Fenris watch the receding backs with equal expressions. “Can you swim?” asks Anders.

“No.”

“You should learn how. I bet Hawke would teach you.”

Fenris scowled. He knows how learning to read went… and that was poorly. He doubted Hawke had any skill at teaching anything. “Why aren’t you running off with them? Don’t you know how to swim?”

Anders flashed a charming grin. “Oh yes, I know how. I just…” The grin fades. “I just choose not to. But I will fill our water skins and maybe wash a bit.”

The two walked down to the pond. Varric’s clothing was folded neatly on the beach to protect Bianca from the sand, while Hawke’s were strewn haphazardly in a line as if he flung them of bit by bit while running to the water. Fenris watched Hawke swimming and splashing and shoving Varric under with a laugh then swimming away. No, he definitely did not want Hawke to teach him to swim. “I think I would much rather have you teach me.” It wasn’t intended as a compliment.

Anders looked up in surprise from where he crouched filling a water skin. “Oh? Uhm… I... could.” He inhaled deeply, taking this very seriously. Fenris asked something of him that he actually could give in a way that might show Fenris that this possessed apostate was not so bad. He didn’t want to screw up the opportunity. “I would suggest just getting used to the water first. Stripping down and walking in to about waist deep, but no deeper. Start with feeling comfortable with the water. Dunk your head in a few times and we can see from there. If you really want to go further, we can. One small step at a time. I am not a fan of throwing someone in and hoping they figure it out. Drowning is scary stuff. And can scare a new swimmer from ever swimming again. But if you learn how to swim, then you know you will never be at risk of drowning… and then maybe I can show you how to save a life of someone in the water…. Oh… sorry. Too many steps. Get used to the water and then see if you want to learn.”

Fenris blinked with widening eyes. He had intended to insult the mage, but instead was given a small careful lesson. Water splashed in their direction making them both jump back. Fenris glared at Hawke who only laughed. “Maybe later when Hawke is not in the water.” He stomped back up to their camp.

Behind him, Fenris heard Hawke try to call him back, apologize, then taunt and tease and try to coax Anders into the water. Anders bantered back easily with equal silliness, but refused to give in to Hawke. It angered Fenris in ways he could not understand. He felt left out, but didn’t know how to be included. He felt upset that he could not engage so smoothly in this back and forth bantering. It annoyed him because it was the same bantering Hawke used to get Isabela in the water. And he knew exactly how that ended. He thumped his ass down upon his bedroll and glared menacingly at the fire till the others returned.

Varric returned first and started some food. “Hey Broody. Don’t be so jealous. If you want the sole rights to pick on Anders, then you need to stake a stronger claim on him.” Varric smiled internally as he knew he startled Fenris out of his brooding state and made him all flustered and upset and spitting about the abomination. Though at the sound of that abomination’s approach, Fenris closed his mouth. It was something new Varric had noticed between Fenris and Anders the last couple weeks. The nasty name calling and fighting between them was markedly less. And Fenris actively seemed to avoid saying insults without cause if Anders might overhear them. Also, if those two were not verbally challenging each other, Fenris seemed to always be calmer around Anders, as though his perpetual squint from pain lessed in the healer’s presence. Very… interesting. He will have to corner Fenris over a good drink at the Hanged Man some time.

Hawke returned, partially dressed and dripping wet with an arm over Anders’ shoulders. The two were laughing. Fenris ground his teeth. Hawke left Anders to see what Varric was starting for food, only to be firmly told not to touch anything. Hawke was amazing at a great many things, cooking was not one of them. Hawke lived life with almost reckless passionate abandon. It was both inspiring and exhausting to be with him.

After they ate, Anders wandered off alone to the water. He removed his neck scarf and his coat. He soaked the scarf in the water, using it to wash himself without stripping down or getting into the pond.

“I thought you could swim,” rumbled a deep voice behind him with its usual bate and challenge.

Anders paused, wrung out his wet scarf, and replied, “I can. I choose not to. I do not like being naked with others around.”

Fenris had nothing to counter or argue back with. That seemed perfectly reasonable. He himself was a very private person. Though it made him wonder what Anders was hiding. Was he a skin and bone kind of mage like many others? Tall as he was, that would be less than appealing to see, especially with the muscled forms of Hawke and Varric in the water to compare one’s self to. Was he turning into an abomination and hiding it?

“Do you want a swimming lesson now while Hawke and Varric are back in camp?” Anders offered without any hint of malice.

He shrugged and started to remove his armor. “I wish to bathe, mage. Look the other way till I am done or go back to camp. And leave the soap.”

Anders flopped onto his back on the sand so his only view was a starry sky. A compromise.

Fenris huffed and wrinkled his nose in annoyance. He snatched the soap from where Anders left it and walked a bit farther where he neatly placed his armor, then his clothing. He shot a glance to Anders to see that the mage had thrown an arm comfortably over his eyes. Warily he waded into the water and washed thoroughly and swiftly. He set the soap upon a stone to dry and shook out his wet hair.

“If you still want a swimming lesson, then may I sit up and direct you from here?”

Fenris thought about the earlier advice and waded into the water waist deep. “Yes.”

What Fenris did not know was that Anders had snuck small peeks every few minutes. He liked to watch. Who wouldn’t? Long lean limbs of a dusky dark tan with long and swirly moon-bright white lines that tantalized the mind and made you want to see them meandering their way to curl even around the most private parts of Fenris’ body. It fed his imagination for later fantasies. Those mostly involved Hawke, but of late, they have included Fenris into a threesome or just him and Fenris. Justice disapproved. Anders tried to ignore the disapprovals.

Anders sat up to take in a full look at the elf. Wet hair shone in the moonlight. Thin rivulets of water ran from Fenris’ hair, down his face, neck, chest. _Can I be the water? Just for tonight?_ Anders took in a deep breath and refocused on the task at hand. Swimming lesson. “Well, it is good to know you are not afraid of the water. Come into the shallower part till you can kneel and sit on your feet with the water coming to just under your arms.” He even looked away to allow Fenris some privacy till he was decently hidden by the water again. When the water sounds grew quiet, Anders looked over and nodded. “Alright. Put one hand onto the ground. Take a deep breath and hold your nose closed with the other. Put your face deep in the water and count to ten.”

This seemed utterly ridiculous. Fenris followed these simple instructions nonetheless. He remembered how utterly ridiculous he thought the first lessons in reading and writing were with Sebastian’s guidance. And that had turned out well. Fenris could now write the whole alphabet and make some words and even simple phrases. He could now struggle through reading books with short sentences. He took in a deep breath, pinched his nose and plunged his face into the water for ten seconds. He lifted his head and shook his wet hair from his eyes.

Anders thought his heart would stop. There was something so very sexy about that one act. He swallowed. “Do it a few times now till you can do it and be relaxed.”

Fenris scowled at the notion. He WAS relaxed. Maybe…. He did it several more times till he was comfortable with the idea that he was not going to drown. How could he. He was sitting in the water supported by his hand. All he had to do was straighten his arm and he would be free of water in his face.

“Very good. Ready for the next step?”

Thinking that the first was easy and appreciating the appraisal, Fenris nodded.

“This time, you will not hold your nose. You will slowly blow the breath out through your nose while your face is in the water. And when you come up for air, inhale through your mouth. Otherwise you get water in your nose and that burns.”

Fenris had a few moments of sputtering as he worked out the technique.

“You can practice this in a bathtub if you have one in that filthy mansion.” Anders stood and made to put on his coat.

“Mage! Where are you going? Are we stopping?”

Anders looked back with raised eyebrows. “You really want to continue? Okay.” He put his coat back down. “Repeat the last technique but while on all fours.”

Fenris felt exposed and uncomfortable. He disliked the position, the cool night air on the roundness of his butt cheeks where they surfaced above the water just slightly, and the fact that Anders remained standing. It proved more awkward to do the blowing bubbles technique on all fours. There was this nervous feeling like the water was tugging him while his face was in the water. He was still firmly planted on all fours and eventually grew at ease.

“Are you cold? Do you want to learn more?”

“I am cold. But I want to learn more.”

“Then don’t practice anything more till I come back. I will go get the towels and your blanket.” Anders waited for Fenris to agree then headed to camp briefly. He returned to see Fenris as he left him. He set down the towels and Fenris’ fluffy warm blanket.

Anders removed his boots and socks and rolled up his pants to just under the bandages and knee armor he wore on his right knee. Then he waded in to Fenris’ protests. “Oh stop. You have nothing I have not seen on men before.” He slammed his staff into the water and pushed it hard into the sandy bottom till he was sure it was secure. Then he returned to the shore, but sat closer. He didn’t want to be far in case Fenris did drown. “Hold the staff with your support arm, let the other arm just float out and repeat the air blowing under water till you are comfortable.” He really REALLY _really_ wanted to be in the water touching the elf to guide him and support him, to hold his hand instead of offering his staff as a post.

The first try at this technique caused a moment of panic and coughing and sputtering.

“Relax. Breathe through your mouth. You were doing great. Try again.” Anders tried to sound as reassuring and encouraging as possible, pretending that this was maybe one of the Fereldan children or Alienage kids and not snarky Fenris.

It took many more tries before Fenris got this and didn’t inhale pond water. “What is next?” he asked eagerly to Anders surprise. It won him one of Anders semi-shy yet very charming brief half-grins. A rare honest one that crinkled at the corners of Anders eyes. Somewhere inside Fenris, he felt like he won a victory. Anders never gave him that look, not ever. Not that he had ever really wanted it, but now that he got it… He realized how hard it was to get.

“What next? Repeat, but this time stretch out your legs so they float. But do NOT let go of the staff.” Anders stood now, just in case he had to run in to rescue the elf.

Fenris was determined. He had succeeded so far and didn’t care that he was shivering. He banished the feeling and did as instructed. It was a great success! Then he flailed and inhaled water and scrambled to kneeling as he coughed.

“You did it!” cheered Anders. “You floated! That is the first part of swimming!”

Fenris shook the water from his eyes and could not help the victorious grin that lit his face. It was a half success, but Anders exuberant joy at it excited him. He tried again. It took three more tries till he could do it. Then he experimented and simply held his breath and floated, holding the staff. There was something both frightening and exhilarating about the free feeling of floating in water. Now he was too cold to stay any longer in the water. He wanted to reach a significant hurdle in the notion of swimming and he had. And remarkably, the abomination was an amazing teacher who went at Fenris’ pace and worked around Fenris’ comforts and discomforts.

Anders held out a towel, opened as Fenris stood and stepped into it to be engulfed. He dried as swiftly as he could on his own and then dressed while Anders pulled on his own coat. Then Anders wrapped the blanket around Fenris and carried Fenris’ armor as they returned to camp.

“Mage,” Fenris stopped before they got too close to Hawke and Varric’s hearing range. Anders stopped and looked over. “You are a very good teacher.”

Anders gaped. Fenris walked on allowing a smirk to curl his lips only after he passed Anders. There was something intensely satisfying to pull the rug out from under the mage and leave him speechless. Sometimes Fenris managed it with an especially cruel comment. Then he discovered he can sometimes manage it with a well-placed jest, which he did so very rarely. And now with a compliment, which was even rarer still.


	5. Heartache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris isn't used to sharing that which he hopes to claim. But he took too long to claim it. Jealousy is an ugly monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I managed to incorporate several people's suggestions into this one chapter. Fenris feels pain when away from Anders. Anders and Fenris accidentally cuddling. Fenris talks with Varric about his concerns and questions about Anders (or at least tries). Someone flirts with Anders and Fenris gets jealous. Sorry... no swimming in this chapter. Just lots of angst.

Fenris paced his mansion, from room to room and up and down the stairs. The mage, as if there was only one in the world, plagued his mind. He had questions, curiosities, dreams that he should not, suspicions and doubts. Part of him wanted to pin the mage to a wall and kiss him hard, hands digging under quilted coat to see if there was golden hair over pale skin. With a roar, he threw a vase from a pedestal in the main hall to shatter in a million shards. His brands flared and with them the familiar burn. He roared again as he sank to the floor screaming his frustration to the rotting ceiling.

Locals in Hightown were once again assured that this decrepit place was haunted.

WHY!? Why was it that the pain was there when the mage was not, but blessedly gone if Anders were close. What did the mage do to him? Did he slide in and make him dependant, like Danarius?! Fucking mages and magisters. He should never have trusted the abomination. He should keep a closer eye on him. Snatch the chance and end him before he invaded his dreams with foul sexual acts again.

How could he have ever thought he had come to terms with the mage, friends almost. He felt so deceived. After three or four months of this, he started to avoid the mage in earnest, for perhaps six whole months. He ignored him on the trips out with Hawke or refused to go with Hawke at all. He focused his money and efforts on finding his sister. He wanted to spy on Anders, follow him around to see what other horrible things the abomination was doing, but could not bring himself to do it. Anders was like a drug against the pain and he did not want to be addicted. He even gave up on the offered swimming lessons, ignoring the mage’s confused and hurt expression.

It didn’t help Fenris’ mood to see Hawke spending more time with Anders, talking more, sharing more, being the comfort. The shy glances and that delicate smile had been witnessed a few more times. Hawke seemed adept at bringing it out in Anders where Fenris had only managed it once. Anders lamented to Hawke often about Fenris. “What did I do this time?! I thought… I thought he and I were becoming friends. I mean, I get it. I get he hates magisters for what they did and for their blood magic and their consorting with demons and the things they do to slaves. But I am not them. I try so much harder to be in control of Justice… for him when I cannot for myself. What did I do Hawke?”

Hawke, ever the friend and shoulder, “Nothing Anders. You know he is edgy about mages in general, especially possessed ones. We’ve had several bad run in with those kinds recently. And well, he’s got a lot on his mind, right now. Don’t worry so much about it. He is still here with us. So am I. You will never be alone. Besides, you know how I know he is still your friend?” Anders shook his head. “He won’t turn you over to the Templars and fair bloodied Sebastian’s face when he suggested doing so. Come on. Come sleep with me. I’ll help keep the nightmares away tonight. I know there are darkspawn in the area.” Anders had started sleeping close with Hawke these last few trips, whereas he used to sleep close with Fenris, at least until that one trip where they woke startled to find they were so close it could almost be called cuddling.

Hawke was just being Hawke.

And that somehow made Fenris angrier when he used to admire the champion.

Days later, Fenris sat drinking with Varric in the Hanged Man. They spoke of the search for his sister. Varric had information and was ready to use Fenris’ savings to arrange to bring her to Kirkwall. “If this is what you want. Remember, she may not be anything you expect.”

“I expect nothing. But she is my sister. She is all I have as a connection to my past, to any chance of regaining any of my memories. She is the only family I have left.” Fenris already had learned that his mother had not survived. It was discovered as part of the news and correspondence with his sister. Though, she was not the only one on his mind. “Varric, I have… questions… about Anders.”

The dwarf raised an intrigued eyebrow. Fenris called the mage by name. He had seen how those two had gotten close and then how Fenris seemed to bolt away. It was almost like watching the shipwreck that was Fenris and Hawke’s failed relationship. Only this time there was no sex and Fenris was far more agitated. Varric had tried carefully laying a breadcrumb trail with words to drawn them together, to build on something he had seen spark. He provided kindling. Then the distance grew. But not the fire burning inside them. Varric had quietly cursed to himself when he saw Fenris pull farther back and Hawke moving in.

“He did something to me a while ago.” Fenris flexed open his hand, staring at the lyrium brands. He was not wearing all his armor today, tried to do as Varric advised and dress more casually for social outings. “He did some magic and stopped the brands from causing me pain. But… they have begun to hurt me again. When he is near, the pain goes away.”

“Ah, yes. I had noticed. I don’t think he even knows it. I bet it is a side effect to the healing thingy he did to you. He is a healer. And I know he has and would again give up his very life if he had   tin order to save yours.” Varric let that sink in while he drank his ale. “I also noticed how close you two had gotten. Nothing wrong with it. I am just… well. You pulled back. Did you get some kind of reaction like what happened with you and Hawke?”

Fenris dropped his eyes into his cup, shoulders sagging. “No.”

“What is going on, then? I might be able to help.”

Fenris frowned. This was Varric and he felt incredibly foolish about the turmoil inside himself. “I… we… I… Thing have happened to him. Hawke seems to know what they are. Hawke seems to know everything about the mage. Something vile happened to Anders. I… I don’t want to make him think that I… I would never… what Hawke and I did was too fast. A rush… a mess. I don’t… not with Anders… but… I want.. I … he plagues my mind and I have no idea what to do about it.”

Varric took a measured swallow. He had never seen Fenris so… undone before. This would require extra careful wording, especially since he was also Hawke’s close ear and knew what was developing there. “Blondie’s story is his to tell, but yes, it is as dark as your own. He really does need a keeper, though. And I don’t mean of the Templar kind. Someone to encourage him to stay who he is, someone to help keep him safe, someone to make sure he doesn’t starve to death.”

Fenris winced. He had promised to keep a careful watch of the mages in their group… but his hate and pride and selfish retreat caused him to neglect one who might actually have needed him most.

Varric continued, “I had hoped you could be that for him. I still do. But some things, you…”

Varric didn’t get to finish as Hawke and Anders entered the Hanged Man, laughing together. Hawke’s arm draped over the mage’s shoulders. Fenris looked away, hiding his glance back behind his mug of ale. Anders sat at a table. Hawke leaned down. Their lips met briefly. Hawke drifted away to order drinks and look for Varric.

Fenris stood so sharply, the table rocked and his drink spilled. Varric finished his sentence, “… are a little too slow for.” Fenris stormed towards the table, fury in his eyes, brands flickering. Jealousy cinching his heart painfully.

Anders turned toward the clatter of table and mug, but met Fenris’ eyes when he felt or heard… the lyrium song. He stood and back pedalled at the sight, hands coming up protectively to deflect the elf from ripping out his heart, not that anything could actually defend against that. Varric intercepted Hawke to prevent him from interfering. Anders backed into the bar. Fenris got right into his face but could not find the words, tongue locked behind clenched teeth. Anders narrowed his eyes as he recognized the look, jealousy.

“What? You become my friend, get me to actually like you, trust you, WANT to be something for you… and they drop me like I am poison. You think I am going to put up with that? Hawke at least is consistent. He doesn’t betray me. What do you want, Fenris? Because you can’t just fuck me and leave me. Not like you did to Hawke.”

Fenris stepped back stung, flinching as if slapped. Is that what he had done to the mage? Betrayed him? “I… That is not…” he glanced over at Hawke.

“You don’t own me. You don’t even care!” spat the mage.

Fenris’ jealousy fizzled out like a mage at the end of their mana. He opened his mouth. He closed it. “No. I do not own you. No one does. And…” he shook his head, recognizing his jealousy and the unfairness he was dumping on both Anders and Hawke. What right did he have to interfere with their potential happiness? Varric was right. He was foolish, waited too long, missed his chance. He backed up another step and then left the Hanged Man.

Anders let out a heavy breath of relief, patted his heart glad it was still there. He and Hawke had come here to celebrate that he was moving in with Hawke. He didn’t want or expect… this. He winced to himself. He didn’t mean all he had said to Fenris. The words were low blows, unjust.

Varric whispered to a distressed Hawke, “They needed that. Fenris needed a wake-up call. Anders needed to know that when push comes to shove, Fenris won’t rip out his heart.”

“Anders is moving in with me.” Hawke's quiet announcement felt so anti-climactic now.

Varric looked up at Hawke with some sympathy, “Congrats. I’ll get you both some drinks on me.” Varric to the rescue to diffuse the tension in the Hanged Man and return it to normal and give his other friends a safe place to be. He’ll go visit Broody Elf later to talk privately in the mansion, soothe another broken heart.


	6. Sowing Seeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric cultivates things in his friends, namely Anders and Fenris.

The afternoon was not very celebratory after all. But up in Varric’s suite, Hawke and Anders relaxed and talked. “I’ll apologize to him,” suggested Anders.

“No, I will,” offered Hawke.

“Why? You didn’t do anything. I’m the one who kinda stabbed him using your former relationship.”

Hawke turned to Varric, “Is he jealous of me or of Anders? I mean, I’m not going to wait forever for him. Celibacy is just not my thing.”

“Hard to say for sure. I think it might have more to do with that you two are public with your affection and he doesn’t even know how to express his. I think he is jealous of both of you. He may also feel somewhat… left out. Not in a relationship mind. But in the friendship.” Varric tried to sum up his many observations of Fenris for them. “I think he feels perhaps socially inept, emotionally crippled, and incompetent at expressing himself by comparison of the two of you.”

Hawke’s face wrinkled, “Ouch,” and flushed mildly.

Anders also winced. There had been some odd moments, odd looks. He was not sure if Fenris perhaps fancied Hawke. And then there were the moments where Fenris started to trust Anders a little and Anders wondered if maybe… it was he the elf fancied. But no. That would be ridiculous. “I… figured. He’s been so damaged by Danarius.” The healer in him already analysing the psychological implications of long term trauma. “At least I’ve had caring people  in my life now and then.”

“The two of you moving in, Continued Varric, “is likely going to strain the situation and make him feel…”

“Left out and abandoned,” finished Anders knowing how he would have felt in Fenris shoes… or uh… bare feet.

Varric sipped his drink and chatted a little longer. When he visited Fenris later, the elf was so drunk that he could not even stand. He was barely coherent in his slurred monologues where his emotions and thoughts flowed more freely than the very fine wine. Most informative for the dwarf who swore he would share nothing. Varric managed to get Fenris into bed with a pitcher of water to drink from and a basin that will surely be needed by morning.

Later in the week, Varric visited Anders in the clinic with some food and supplies. “Blondie! I thought you moved in with Hawke.”

Anders hid his emotions behind a grin. “I am. But I am not giving up on those who need me.” He meant both the mages and those in need of healing. Varric nodded, understanding the unspoken. “Besides, Hawke’s wine cellar and vaults let out right beside the clinic and I have a key.” He sifted through the treasures of bread, fruit, dried meat, base oils, and precious salt. “I shouldn’t have said I did to Fenris last week. He just… I was so angry with the look he gave me. I thought he and I were maybe becoming friends. I still mean to apologize. We haven’t seen him at all this week.”

“Don’t give up on him.” Varric had a plan.

“I’m not.” Anders did not meet Varric’s eyes in case something inside him was given away. Instead he offered this bit of information. “Justice… actually liked him, liked the lyrium song in him. Fenris’ brands sing, not like that red lyrium shit of your brother’s, but like the Fade itself.” He confessed, “Justice doesn’t like Hawke so much. Thinks a relationship with him is a distraction. But… I’ve wanted Hawke… for years. I may never have another chance to love someone.”

Varric handed over a backpack full of clean bandages.

Anders accepted it gratefully. “And I don’t exactly have that much time. Even without Justice, even without the danger of Meredith and her Templars, I am a Grey Warden. I have the taint. And one day it will either call me or kill me.”

“How long?”

Anders toed the floor. “Most get 30 years after their Joining. Mages less. I don’t know how long, but not more than 15.”

“Damn, Blondie. That gives you less than ten years.”

“Hawke knows. He accepts me.”

Varric leaned against a pillar. “I think, after all this time, that Fenris accepts you too, despite his broody words otherwise.” Time to plant seeds of at least reminders. He didn’t want to necessarily break up Anders and Hawke, but he did not see it working out, especially with Justice.

“HA!” scoffed Anders. “The mage-hater and the possessed apostate?! Seriously? Sounds more like a bad friend-fiction, the kind we know are impossible.”

Varric left still feeling content for having sowed strong seeds. It didn’t matter if a love bloomed from them, but a strong friendship would be equally good. Fenris could use a friend with patience and understanding, a healer of body, mind and spirit. Why not a spirit healer? And Anders could certainly use protection of Fenris’ unflinching kind. All of which was pointless of Fenris continued to hermit himself away in melancholy among his desiccated corpses.

A dwarven fist thumped heavily upon the ill-kept door before Varric helped himself inside. He did not fear the ghosts that sometimes howled within. There he met with Fenris and broke many very convincing words. Fenris hunkered in humiliation still, too ashamed to show his face outside among those he once called friends. It was hard, but Varric finally convinced him to at least start with coming to card night. Varric reassured him that everyone wanted him there, that they were all still his friend. It seemed almost childish, but Fenris was still new and understanding friendship and trust.

“Even Hawke?”

The dwarf chuckled, “Yes, even Hawke.”

To both Varric’s pleasure and surprise, Fenris then asked, “What is Anders is there?”

Again Varric made mental note that Fenris used the mage’s name. There was hope stiff for his plans. “Then you get to enjoy a pain-free game and we all hope the newness of the experience means we all win coin from you!”

“Bah!” blurted Fenris. “I’ll be able to play better without the distraction of pain.”

“Good! Then we will see you there tonight!”

AT the Hanged Man that night, Fenris was surprised that no one mentioned the incident from last week. But then, Hawke and Andrew had not yet arrived. Fenris tried not to think why. Why? He failed instantly. Why? Were they having sex? He scowled, clenched his fist grateful that he dressed casual again or his claws with have punctured his palm.

Hawke met Anders at the clinic and escorted him to his mansion to get cleaned up before they head off to card night. “Are you sure about this, Anders? Fenris will be there and he might… I don’t know.”

“I told you we should have talked to him about us before we decided to do this. You were his first lover and he loves you still. I bet he feels hurt and lonely and rejected.”

Hawke stopped walking and declared defensively, “He rejected me…”

“Hawke, that’s not the issue.” Why did it have to be about Hawke?

They came into the Hanged Man with Hawke promising to make greater efforts to include Fenris and to go visit him at the decrepit mansion more often, no matter how prickly Fenris gets.

When they arrived in Varric’s suite where they usually played cards around the huge oak table, Anders asked Fenris to come talk in one of the unused rooms on that floor.

Fenris thought he would be okay, encouraged as he was by Varric. But Hawke and Anders arrived and his feelings of hurt and embarrassment returned in force. He dared not flee, though. He’d look like a coward. Hawke offered to buy the first round of drinks as usual, heading back down after dropping off his weapons and cloak. It made Fenris wondered is anything ever really effected the rogue. He had seen Hawke distraught only three times before. When Bethany almost died of the taint. When he broke up after the first time Fenris and he were together. And when Hawke’s mother died. Then Anders asked Fenris, in front of everyone, if he would talk privately in another room. There was no way out.

He stood feeling like his stomach sank into his bare toes. He followed the mage, knots in his stomach, wondering what people would think about the enemies-almost-friends-then-enemies-again were doing sequestered in private. He stood in the chosen room feeling naked without his armor and vulnerable without his sword, which he left in Varric’s suit.

They stared at each other for a long moment after Anders closed the door.


	7. The Talk

They stared at each other for a long moment after Anders closed the door. Anders took that moment to note how Fenris looked so good in just those black leggings and dark green tunic. If the elf were not tense like a trapped animal, Anders could imagine a languid cat.

The warrior assessed his dangers. The mage dressed as he always did, though left his staff also with Varric. Fenris concluded that Anders did not own any other clothing and was reminded of Varric’s words months ago of how Anders gave everything away, starved most days and ate well only when they camped on missions, lived as poorly as those he healed. It made Anders an anomaly to Fenris for he was the only selfless mage Fenris ever met. Then he remembered all the times he had spat about how selfish Anders was, ignorant of what the mage may have actually gone through. Now Anders was with Hawke. Bathed and wearing at least cleaned clothes, stitched and patched even more than they were a week ago. The honey gold hair looked so soft. The lantern light shone off the strands revealing hints of gold and colorless grey. He didn’t think Anders was old enough to be going grey. Stress supposedly made one grey. Fenris looked away from those warm amber eyes. Fenris felt a little betrayed and set up. Yet, at the same time, maybe Anders deserved a free shot at him for the years of poor treatment.

Anders waited patiently for Fenris to determine he was in no immediate danger. He watched the tension slowly fade, the shoulder relax, the eyes drop in shame. “Fenris,” he spoke gently. Mossy green eyes raised with that puppy look that Merrill swore Fenris had sometimes. Anders thought his heart would stop or break right there.

“Fenris,” Anders began. “I want to apologize. Firstly for what I said to you. It was unjust and cruel. And I am really really sorry.”

Fenris relaxed his hands in awe at how heartfelt and honest Anders tone was. Should he, could he trust it, him?

Without waiting, Anders continued, “Secondly, I’m sorry Hawke and I surprised you with our relationship. It just kinda happened for us. We should have come to speak to you in private first. I know you don’t like surprises, especially ones that might leave you uhm… left out. Especially since you and Hawke once had something and I might be tromping all into that. Hawke still cares about you and will tell you so himself in his own way. And… so do I…”

“Stop.” Fenris raised a hand. “It is I who needs to apologize to you.” It felt so strange to do this to a mage, a possessed mage. He wasn’t saying sorry, that felt too much like begging as he had with Danarius. But he felt sorry.

Anders sat on the cot in the room and looked up at the elf. He felt it important to consider all that Fenris had been through. Fenris did not need another mage looking down at him. Anders was tall, sitting down allowed the elf a psychological sense of power to look down on Anders and not feel threatened. Anders surmised that Fenris always felt threatened.

When Anders sat, Fenris relaxed. He leaned back on the edge of a small table.

“We both have lots to apologize for,” Anders started. “We’ve not been very good with each other for so many years that I think it is like a safe-feeling habit to just be mean to each other when we are hurt or upset… or whatever.”

Fenris nodded his agreement and added, “Danarius is still out there. What he did to me… what magisters do to slaves… is like a darkness inside, a… raging hate that poisons and blinds.”

“I don’t wish Tranquility on anyone… but I’ll gladly make an exception for him!” spat Anders. “He gives the rest of us a bad name and undermines our chances to ever know what it is like to live and love like everyone else.”

Fenris’ brows knit under his white forelock.

Anders sighed. “We were becoming friends. Or at least I thought we were. What happened? Did I do something? Is it because of me and Hawke? Did I cross some line when I accidentally got too close?”

Fenris watched the mage babble and concluded Anders really was insecure, maybe as much as he was himself. They just reacted differently. Babbling was one of Anders’ nervous habits. The string of questions reminded him of slaves pleading to understand why they were being punished by their master. That thought twisted a hard knot in his gut. Why would Anders have learned to behave like this? Now that Fenris looked and listened, maybe Varric was right. Maybe He needed to look and listen more carefully from now on.

Anders looked up with pleading eyes, seeking reassurance.

Fenris licked his lips, “It is… complicated.”

“Uncomplicate for me… please?”

Fenris dropped his eyes and ground a bare toe into the dust on the floor. “You… did something to me… when you healed me. The pain stopped. I mean… the lyrium brands… they hurt all the time. When I release the power, the pain is excruciating. To be touched by anyone causes flashes of pain and memory and pleasure…” He shook his head. “But whatever you did stopped that.”

“How is that a bad thing?” asked Anders, completely confused.

“Because the pain is returning, but not when you are close. I thought that maybe…”

Anders gasps with realization, “You thought I did something to make you need to be close to me. Did Danarius do that, too? Relieve the pain when you stayed close or obeyed him?” At Fenris’ nod, Anders let out an annoyed huff. “No, I didn’t do any such thing. I had hoped what I did would hold, but it was really only a magical bandage, a buffer. I slid a mage barrier between the brands and the blood magic Danarius left in you. “The pain will be there forever so long as he lives. The barrier I put there must be fading. I naturally sustain my spells which would explain why you feel better near me. But we are not always going to be together. I’ll have to renew and strengthen the barrier regularly so you can have some peace. And Danarius… needs to die. I don’t know how to undo what he left in you. And if I die before he does… then you are back where you started.”

They both firmly agreed that Danarius had to die, the sooner the better. All Anders just explained made sense. Fenris felt foolish for not having considered it. It was in his nature to hate and distrust first. Learning otherwise… was a challenge.

“I am so sorry I didn’t explain that properly to you when I did it. I should have. What a mess I created.” Anders sighed again, “I’m really sorry.”

How Anders was so willing to assume the blame amazed Fenris. “I should have asked sooner instead of suspecting you would intend harm. I avoided you… everyone… in this. You are right. This is a mess.”

Anders nodded, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips. “And I thought that you were jealous of how much time I was taking with Hake, not leaving you room with him. Worse! I thought you were jealous that you might be having less time with me!”

Fenris winced because in a way both were true. “I… do not share well,” he admitted.

Anders blinked dumbly. “Oh… you were jealous.”

“It is wrong of me. I have no right to deny either of you anything you wish of each other. It is your business.” Fenris refused to meet Anders eyes again.

Anders never thought he would ever know the day he would say these next things. “Fenris, just because Hawke and I hooked up, living together, showing affection, does not mean either of us have stopped liking you.” Did he really just admit he liked Fenris? “Or stopped being your friend. I bet you are used to things and people being taken from you. That is not the case here, Fenris. Friends don’t do that.”

Fenris tried not to fiddle with the hem of his tunic. Embarrassment mixed with relief. Then he frowned again as the official news of Anders moving in with Hawke hit him Anders may be a healer first, but he was still possessed. “You… are living with Hake now?”

Anders could not help the rise of wariness, like it was second nature, “What’s it to you?”

Fenris sighed and refrained from rising to this fight. “Just… be good to him. Break his heart and I will kill you.”

Anders threw his arms up. “Why did I bother!” He stood and stormed out.

Fenris intercepted, grabbing the mage’s arm tight before Anders could open the door. But he did not know what to say now, or what to do. He had never reached out and touched Anders willingly before. His head tilted down.

Anders glared down at the snowy head, angry. With a slow breath in and out again, he pushed aside his anger and reconsidered Fenris’ gesture. He raised his other hand to cup the elf’s cheek and slid it back into the white hair to the back of the elf’s head, drawing Fenris closer to lean on his shoulder. A slow movement, not wanting to startle the dangerous elf, but thinking maybe… Fenris needed comfort, was lonely. Fenris released his grip but did not pull away from Anders.

“I promise not to hurt Hawke. I am sorry he lacked the patience for you. Please… don’t shut us all out again. Oddly… you are kinda my moral compass.” Anders presses soft lips to the top of the elf’s head, then left to rejoin the others.

Fenris stood in that room alone for a long time wondering why he allowed Anders’ touch, why he did not push the mage away, why he wanted to stay there leaning against those annoying feathers. Was Anders this hands on with everyone? Fenris thought so. But why? Was it how Anders clung to reality, hung onto the memory of who he was as a spirit stole his senses a little at a time every week? How long before Anders the healer was truly lost? How long before he falls? Does Anders even realize how doomed his relationship is with Hawke because of Justice/Vengeance? Did Anders really know Hawke, what kind of man Hawke was? Maybe Fenris ought to have been more worried of Hawke unintentionally hurting Anders. How would Justice take to that? Badly, Fenris suspected.

Fenris’ fingers touched all the places where Anders had touched him moments ago. He wanted to commit to memory the feel of gentle contact and affection without agony or the chaos of flashbacks. It was the first time he ever had such contact that he could remember that was so free of pain. Then he recalled that as soon as Anders and he parted ways tonight, the pain would return. Anders did not just invade Fenris’ body with magic, but left it up to Fenris to decide where and when and if he wanted help that would surely be invasive. And decide he did.


	8. The Writing in the Sand

While the talk seemed to have done wonders for the elf and apostate, Isabela had bets on how long it would last.

Hawke had them out scouting a couple days later, hunting for lost people. This time some lord’s daughter had been kidnapped to the coast. The first band of slavers spilled all they knew before they died. It was too little. Just a mention of a new girl in the Blooming Rose.

Anders complained about the hiking back and forth. Like a petulant child, he declared they were camping or they could go without him. It was the first time anyone saw he and Hawke argue. Anders won out of sheer stubbornness.

Fenris narrowed his eyes, wondering what was making the mage so sour. Was it something personal with Hawke? Was it Justice? Was it the stupid Mage Underground movement? Or was it something else entirely?

“I think Blondie and Hawke need a little break from one another, Varric commented as he sat next to Fenris and observing the brief sniping of their companions. “I wonder what’s eating Blondie or if it is just that he isn’t eating.”

A collection of creases appeared between Fenris’ eyebrows while he cleaned the blood from his blade. The apostate did seem a little gaunter, tired smudges under his eyes. “I will find out.” He took out his whetstone and sharpened the blade.

Varric proceeded to make dinner over the campfire, an internal smirk for the seed he planted in Fenris had started to germinate. It wasn’t that he was hoping the elf and mage would hook up. He didn’t want Hawke hurt. But friendship could be beneficial. At the very least, there would be less arguing.

Fenris claimed both his food portion and Anders’, since Hawke and Anders were still not speaking this evening. “Eat.” He put the plate down by the mage and sat on the log to eat his own meal. “I want another swimming lesson after. The moon is full. We will have enough light.”

Fenris was rewarded with a softened expression from the apostate. “We need to wait an hour after eating or you’ll get cramps. But… sure. Why don’t we, uh, I mean… I know Hawke was teaching you to read and write. I also know he has the patience of a gnat and stopped the lessons. Would you still like to learn? I can teach you.” He needed a distraction. Justice was loud in his mind, arguing against the relationship with Hawke, among other things Justice thought they ought to be doing. Anders did not expect the proud elf to accept his offer, especially in front of the others. The shock was briefly plain on his face when Fenris nodded.

Fenris watched the mage wolf down his food hungrily. Perhaps Varric really was correct. It annoyed Fenris that Anders was not properly eating for himself when others needed him at his best, especially with the hospitality of Hawke’s estate at his convenience. It annoyed him that Hawke didn’t seem to notice. When he was half way through his own meal, he handed it over to the made. “I am done. You may have the rest if you want, otherwise I will give it to the mabari.” When Anders took the plate from him, he took out his dagger and used the point to scratch out the letters he remembered into the dirt.

Anders ate the second helping more slowly and somewhat absently as he gave the elf his full attention. He reached out and almost covered the lyrium marked hand to guide it and paused. “May I?”

A flick of green eyes. A short bob of white forlock.

Anders wrapped long fingers around Fenris’ hand. The elf tensed, bracing for pain. There was none. No flashes of memory. Just a warm calloused hand, one that moved his own holding the dagger to correct a couple of the letters.

“Did that hurt?”

White hair swished back and forth.

“You have pain still when we are apart?”

The white head bob a little.

“I can try to heal some more so the relief will last longer when you are away. I can’t cure you of it until denarius is dead.”

“I know. Later.” Anders had not removed his hand from Fenris’ and Fenris had not pulled away.

The moment lasted only that long, a moment. “Did you only get as far as letters?” Anders asked as he drew back.

“No. I can read some words. And write my name.”

“Can you write mine?”

Fenris frowned and stared at the letters in the dirt. He mouthed Anders name very slowly over and over as he searched for the letters that would match the sounds he made in his head but not out loud. Then he wrote A-N-D-R-Z and scowled at it thinking that could not possibly be right.

“There is an E before the R in my name. And the Z is actually an S.” Fenris glanced at the mage expecting mockery, but there was simply an encouraging smile. Fenris leaned down and corrected the spelling. When he glanced back, there was a very bright smile on the mage’s face. “Great! Let’s try everyone else’s names. They practiced this for almost two hours which stretched into three as Varric took first watch and Hawke gave up and went to sleep in a tent.

Apostate and warrior wandered past the dwarf to make an awkward climb down the rocks to the water. At least the sand was soft there at the bottom by the stream that lead out to sea. Fenris’ gauntlets scraped sharply on the rocks, the claws aiding his climb. He stood at the bottom watching the mage pick his way much more slowly and carefully. He rolled his eyes and removed his armor as he watched, wondering if the mage was afraid of heights or would maybe fall. Not that he cared, not really. Well maybe a little. Who would heal the group? Who would ease the pain of his brands? He prepared to possibly catch the mage if he fell. It was totally out of practical concern.


	9. Old Injury

The climb down the rocky surface to the pebbly shore was slow. Fenris waited and watched from below, analyzing the mages every movement with a frown. It was slower and more halting than he expected. Fenris leaned a little to see Anders’ face and wondered at the pained expression. When the mage finally reached the bottom and turned to face him, Fenris stated, “You are injured. Heal yourself.”

“What? No… I…” He glanced to his bandaged knee. “I’m fine.”

Those green eyes bore into him, “Do. Not. Lie. To. Me. Ever.”

Anders backed up involuntarily till his back hit the rocks.

“I can see the pain in the way you climbed.”

“It is an old injury.” Anders slowly relaxed as Fenris did not advance on him as he had expected. “It won’t heal. And all the stupid hiking back and forth…”

Ah, now it made sense why Anders had been so peevish with Hawke. Was Hawke so blind? Did Hawke not know? “Why not say something to Hawke about this?”

Anders sighed and looked up at the moon. “Some things are not worth it. If he thinks I am not capable of keeping up, he might not ask me along on any other missions.” A silence started to stretch uncomfortably between them. “Do you still want to have another swimming lesson?”

“Yes. Will you come in the water?”

“Maybe I’ll put my feet in.” he stepped closer to Fenris and they started to walk along the pebbles till they turned to soft sand. They found a small pool, circles by rocks. Fenris undressed, a bit nervously. “I’m not looking. Just get in the water.”

When Fenris was in, Anders sat on the rock and unwrapped his knee bandaging and the leather strings that held his boots together. He rolled up his pants to under his knees and dipped his feet into the warm water. “I like how the moon reflects off your hair.”

Fenris sunk under the water to hide his embarrassment. He came back up comfortable to know the water was not too deep. He could stand on the solid bottom and the water only came to his chest. He came up to Anders and watched his eyes as he approached, testing their shared trust. He touched a hand to one of Anders’ bare feet. “Let me see your knee?”

Anders leaned and rolled his pant legs up above the knees. It was ugly. The right knee was scarred as if it had been broken and stabbed and healed wrong. Fenris recognized a hobbling. Masters did this to slaves to keep them from running. He nodded and backed into the water to practice the floating again. When his hand slipped from a rock, Anders’ hand caught his so he did not panic and drown. Anders widened his legs on the rock and reached with his other hand. “Here, take both of my hands.”

“You are not going to get in the water properly, are you? You do not trust me to see you as you are seeing me?”

“Not… exactly. I don’t like anyone looking at me. My knee is not the ugliest part.” It was as close as Anders was going to get to telling Fenris what had happened to him. Fenris took both of Anders’ hands.

The lessons moved now to learning to kick without sinking, as well as floating in a ball and other float techniques that could be lifesaving. Next came treading water. Slow and easy and encouraging with this lesson as with the lesson in letters and words. Anders loved that fierce grin of pride whenever Fenris managed a new skill. Fenris finally saw that small sweet smile Anders sometimes had on the rarest of occasions, this time it was for him.

Their peace was broken by a sharp whistle. “Hey! Come back up! One of you’s take watch!” called Hawke.

Fenris climbed out, a little less self-conscious with his nudity and dressed. He offered a hand to Anders and helped him to his feet. Magic trickled questioningly at his fingertips and he nodded to the mage. Then the magic flowed smoothly over him and into the brands, strengthening the buffer against the pain. Fenris helped Anders climb back up to the camp after.

Hawke climbed back into his tent and Anders followed. Fenris rolled his eyes are the obvious decision as to who was on watch. He sat next to Varric by the fire and they waited till they were both sure Hake and Anders were asleep.

“So?”

Fenris looked over at the dwarf. “Hawke is an ignorant ass. Anders has an unhealable old injury in his knee and is aching, but he does not want to be restricted from missions.”

“You’ll look out for him, won’t you?” Varric knew the seeds he had planted a while ago were already taking root.

“Always.” It was a promise, more than. Someone had to be there to catch the mage when he fell because one day it would happen.


	10. Falling into Darkness

“Always.” It was a promise, more than. Someone had to be there to catch the mage when he fell because one day it would happen. This was months ago. Now in the steamy heat of midsummer, Anders had his first fall.

Of all falls the mage could have, Fenris did not expect this one or the ones that followed. And he missed.

The old dungeon was finally empty of all the monsters, critters, and demons. It was even clear of the darkspawn and dangerous magic left behind by what turned out to be Hawke’s mage father. However, it only opened the door to many unanswered questions about what the mage had been involved in. Some secret of some kind to contain demons and darkspawn. Or control them? There were clues yet to unravel for another day and pointers to another location, but that location was not on any map.

They had to be careful as many parts of the tunnels were unstable. They passed cells that once held demons or possessed mages. There were a great many of these on each level of the dungeon. Since the tunnels were clear of potential attackers, the group split into two in order to meticulously scour every nook and cranny for treasure, coin, and artifacts.

Fenris insisted on going with the possessed apostate. “No one seems to use that word correctly. Seriously!” complained Anders. “I may be possessed, but just because a mage breaks away from a Circle does not mean that have forsaken their religious beliefs.”

Fenris raised a brow, “So, you believe in the Chant and worship Andraste?”

“No, I am an atheist. If she cared two wits about me, then my life would have been very different and… It would just have been very different.”

Varric and Hawke exchange looks. It was Fenris again who replied, “So, you are an apostate.” Some days, the verbal banter hurt Fenris’ brain.

“Yes… I mean no. Not the way everyone uses the word,” stated Anders.

Varric waved at them, “Have fun, call us if you find a locked that needs to be picked.”

Anders stuck out is tongue like a child as they walked apart in their groups, “Fenris can just smash it with his giant smashy smashy bl---”

Then Anders was gone in a sound of cracking wood. It happened so fast that no one had time to react. They all jumped towards the now hole in the floor and looked down. Fenris was first in a streak of lyrium light, reaching into the darkness below. It was dark for a long ways down, well past what the lines on his hand could illuminate. Hawke called Anders’ name several times with no response.

The mage roused after the impact, a little dazed. His hip hurt and his knee. His ribs ached, and breathing made them ache more. He likely earned a slew of bruises bumping his way down maybe 2 levels. He shook his head to clear the fuzziness and register that Hawke was calling his name from above. He opened his eyes. Darkenss. There was darkness. He tried not to panic, telling himself he just fell and will have to annoyingly make his way back out again. He turned his face up to the hole above to see the fading enchantment of a trap spell. Curses! Worse… he saw the hole above through old iron bars and that hole did not give much light, less when Fenris removed his hand. The darkness engulfed him again. He cast a healing spell to ease his pain and try to think what to do next. There was no magic. Anders gasped. He tried a simple ball of light cantrip in his hand. Nothing. He screamed, now giving into his fear.

Then came screaming, a metal clang and more screaming.

He was trapped! He banged on the bars that seemed all around him. He had no contact even with Justice. He was alone. Alone in the dark. Terror gripped him as he forgot everything but the memories. Memories of being in the isolation cells of a mage tower. Memories of being stripped of magic. Memories of pain from having been hobbled, whipped, beaten… raped.

Anders started to scream ever more hysterical by the second.

What if he had never left that cell? What if everything he remembered was just madness? Never happened. Just imagined in a desperate attempt to not feel so alone in this dark cage.

The three took off through the tunnels. Fenris ahead lit bright and moving fast. If the mage freaked out and panicked or was alone in battle, then he might lose his control with the spirit and turn into a true abomination. He cursed himself repeatedly for missing him. And he had promised to catch him if ever he fell. He honestly thought that fall would be metaphorical not literal like this. Maybe a tumble from the knee or a fainting from lack of food. Not a drop through rotting wood flooring into some dark whole.

Anders curled tightly into a corner, shaking. He still screaming.

They whipped around corners. They skidded over rubble in the halls. They ducked some low beams, almost. Hawke missed and was knocked dazed from his feet. Varric helped him up. The darkness was not helpful and now Fenris was too far ahead to use him for convenient lighting.

The screams quieted to silence.

Hawke and Varric made it to where Fenris stood. Three barred cells filled with debris and skeletons. Anders was not afraid of skeletons, so why was he screaming before. Hawke sparked a torch to light and handed it to Varric. Anders was curled in the far back corner of the cell, shaking like a terrified child, eyes staring at nothing, hands over his ears. The remains of another mage long desiccated lay tangled close to the cage door.

“It is dwarven make like the others. There. There is the enchantment to suppress magic,” explained Varric.

Hawke was focused in picking the lock to get the door open. When it clicked free, he stood to go inside but was stopped by Fenris. “It is too risky for you to approach him right now. Look at him. I can feel Justice on the edge of rising now that the door is open.” Fenris’ warning kept Hawke back.

Fenris stepped in cautiously and knelt before Anders. The mage’s expression seemed so familiar. He tried to place it. Where did he remember seeing such a look before? Then he recalled the memory of Anders’ knee, the evidence of slave punishment by hobbling. Slavery. That is where Fenris recalled the expression. He remembered it from slaves who had been forced into a mix of torture and isolation, caged in a cell that has been spelled to induce nightmares and torment. Anders was trapped in some state of shock. Was he perhaps telling some bits of truth of the treatment Templars do to mages? He had never indicated anything that might mean these things happened to him, called himself the ‘lucky one’ even.

Fenris took hold of Anders’ elbow and pulled him to standing. Anders jerked away in fright. Justice flickered for just a second and faded again. “I am getting you out of here. We are going outside. Out-side.” He tried to emphasize the last word as he tugged at Anders again, this time Anders staggered with Fenris and was guided from the cell. Anders flinched from everyone else.

Hawke grabbed up the broken staff. “I’ll get him another one.”

Once outside, they stopped in a good clear spot to camp. Hawke started the fire while Varric dropped gear and made sure the area was clear and safe. Hawke then said, “Varric and I will head back in for the looting.” He turned and did just that.

Fenris shot a startled look back at Varric as if to ask if Hawke really meant that. Varric looked from Hawke to Anders and understood what upset Fenris this moment. How could Hawke just leave like that? Leave Anders. Right now, Anders really needed assurance, comfort. As his boyfriend, that person should be Hawke.

Anders sat crouched against a small tree, arms desperately around it.

Varric unpacked some healing potions and handed them to Fenris. “Want me to stay and help set up tents?”

“No, keep Hawke out of trouble… if you can. I can handle the mage.” Fenris looked back at Anders. This was his fault. He promised to catch the mage if he fell and he didn’t. He had to make it up to the mage as best he could.

Anders just sat there staring at nothing and clinging to the tree. Fenris tried to coax a healing potion into him, but Anders was too afraid, thinking it was magebane or some other concoction, maybe even the one that prepared a mage for Tranquility. With a sigh, Fenris gave up for the moment and set up camp, letting Anders just calm down. Hours later, he had managed to get Anders to drink the potions and even heal himself with some magic, but the blond refused to say a word about what happened or why he freaked out.

When Hawke and Varric returned, Varric made food while Hawke sat with Anders telling about and showing all the loot they found. Anders did not share with Hawke either about what terrified him so and rendered him temporarily useless. Fenris lurked close by, both possessive and protective. Fenris wanted to voice some choice words at Hawke, but it was not his place to do so.

The day ended in camp with Anders and Hawke having another small spat. “What is wrong with you?! It is just our tent and I will be in there with you. Fine. Stay out here.” Hawke flung open the tent flap and yanked it shut again.

Anders thumped down to sit by the little tree again. He hunkered in on himself and turned away from everyone. A blanket draped itself around his shoulders and he tenses suddenly, looking up at his did so. Green eyes met his. Fenris’ deep voice rumbled softly, “You do not belong to him. You do not have to do what he says if it does not make you feel safe or comfortable.” These were the same words Anders once told Fenris when Fenris went through some unknown trauma and suddenly broke up with Hawke. Anders had said them to Fenris in a short speech about being free. Anders wanted to smile back at Fenris, but he just could not muster the expression, he pulled the blanket tighter about his shoulders, never noticing that it was Fenris’ own fuzzy soft blanket.


	11. Reality Shock

It was the hardest thing he had ever done, next to thrusting a knife into his best friend’s heart (he promised he would if his friend was ever made Tranquil). He watched Hawk walk away, shouldering his travel pack and not looking back at Anders. Why did breaking up have to feel like stabbing someone in the heart unjustly? Why did it have to feel like being stabbed in the heart? Varric patted his arm as he passed, a reminder that it would be ok in a few days. Fenris lingered behind.

The mage wanted to cry, but there was this elf standing RIGHT THERE. “Walk ahead of me,” came the soft accented rumble from the elf.

“Why?” Anders meant it to come out stinging, but it was just a tired and tight whisper.

Green eyes regarded him for a long minute. “So I can catch you when you fall.”

Anders wanted to lash out and yell that he didn’t bloody catch him yesterday. However, that was not exactly true. Fenris had tried. More than tried, understood and stuck by him through all his shaking. In a way he had caught him. If no one was there, he would have fallen into a deep spiral downward into an ugly place and maybe given in further to the monster he had twisted Justice into, the monster that seems to be twisting him in turn. He wondered if Fenris would catch him before Justice turns into a demon, before Anders becomes an abomination.

“If you cannot catch me? Will you promise to kill me? Or make sure someone does before… before I…” Anders could not say what he worried might be the inevitable. “Or… if they make me Tranquil.”

“And if there is a way to save you?”

“I am not worth saving.” Fenris wanted to protest Anders’ words, or just hit the mage for saying them, but the mage continued, leaving him only with questions and confusion. “I am a Grey Warden mage… The Taint will get me in the end anyhow.”

Fenris furrowed his brow in thought, “How long?” Why was this so important? Why did he feel like he cared so much now? And now that the words left his lips, he wished he had not asked, afraid what the answer might be.

“Maybe 15 years since the Joining.”

That was not exactly a clear answer. Fenris didn’t know when Anders had become a grey Warden. As they walked in silence back to Kirkwall, he did the math in his head. He has known Anders for 6 or 7 years now. And he had been a grey Warden for at least 3, likely 5, years. On the generous side, Anders would have 6 more years. If not, then he had maybe 3 years left. Three. Years. Left. To live. No wonder Anders was so free with his affections and lived so generously, loved so unconditionally, clung so hard to anything that could be good feeling. It was the first time Fenris felt true anxiety for the mage outside of immediate danger.

Then Anders turned around to face the warrior with his usual silly smile, “I’ll be fine.” He turned and put a lightness in his step as if this conversation never happened.

However, now Fenris understood more then he had before and could see the silly romantic mask for what it was. Now he understood what Varric had been trying to tell him all this time. And while he had not answered Anders’ question out loud, there was an unspoken agreement. He would end Anders if it came to that, before Anders turned into any sort of monster one way or another. And if he could find a way to save him as Anders had saved him, he would do it, no matter the cost.


End file.
